


Farewell to a stone-heart

by Florance_Tallis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florance_Tallis/pseuds/Florance_Tallis
Summary: 1956.Minerva McGonagall walks out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, closing a door, leaving it all behind. Or so she hopes, so she thinks.Canon-compliant.





	1. Chapter 1

  
‘Ah, Ms. McGonagall!’ Her boss looked up from the stack of parchments he was organizing at the desk. The man seemed to be in a bright mood.  
‘May I disturb you for a moment, sir?’  
‘Please.’ Mr. Urquart waved towards the leather armchairs across his heavy wooden desk, but Minerva remained standing at the door. She got distracted by the parchments, which now were elevating into the air and whirling around him before they found their places on the mahogany shelf.  
‘I am here to talk about the promotion, sir.’ She paused to recollect herself.  
‘Of course, be so kind to go ahead. It is about time we knew where we stand, isn’t it?’  
‘Yes. Well, yes. Sir,’ Minerva have never felt more uncomfortable, wishing to get through the mandatory courtesy round as soon as possible before she would get to the point. ‘It is indeed a generous offer, and I am truly thankful for your commendation to the position…’  
‘I certainly am trying to make a way for the brightest gems of my team; and of course…’ Here he looked her up and down maybe a bit more overtly than he intended. ‘For the ones who deserve it. You have demonstrated both great competence and excellent work ethics in the past two years, Ms. McGonagall.’  
‘I am pleased to hear your acknowledgment, sir’, Minerva said. Such a praise was indeed far from usual, considering his fastidious nature.  
‘Well then, can I take it as accepted? The promotion offer, I mean.’  
‘Not quite.’  
‘Not quite?’ Mr. Urquart lifted an eyebrow.  
‘In fact, no.’  
He was tasting her words slowly in an insolently unhurried, yet meaningfully serious way, which made Minerva holding her breath, as if she was about to hear some final verdict.  
He made it clear yet again that it was him who dictated the pace of the conversation.  
‘Would you like to remain my assistant for life, Ms. McGonagall?’ Mr. Urquart asked finally, walking back to his desk. Apparently he deemed the topic not worthy enough for his undivided attention. ‘I can assure you without the slightest of doubt that much more potential is hiding in you.’  
‘No, I am… What I am trying to say is that… I was found with an alternative offer, sir.’  
‘Oh, from the Hit Wizard division, I suppose’ Mr. Urquart went on abstractedly while he was trying to lock a drawer of his desk with an odd-shaped key. ‘Alfred Devine has this rather terrible habit of attempting to scrounge or lure over to his team all my excellent human material. But if you take my... advice…’  
The key apparently got stuck, and while observing the little struggle, Minerva made sure he wouldn’t finish his sentence.  
‘Actually, it is from outside the Ministry, sir.’  
Mr. Urquart seemed to be genuinely taken by surprise; at least there was a sudden, although subtle flicker of bewilderment in his eyes as he drew himself up and looked at her.  
‘Is it?’ He asked slowly. ‘And from where exactly, if I may…?’  
‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A teaching position. At the Transfiguration Department.’  
‘That is… well, surely a… suitable position for you.’ He was carefully choosing his words, but his undisguised expression made her feel shamefully ungrateful and oddly uneasy.  
‘Yes, it is, I guess, sir. And... I have already well, sort of... accepted it.’  
‘Sort of?’ Beating around the bush was something Elphinstone Urquart had always found a mere waste of time. But the unintentional sharpness in his tone was only a result of an ill-fated attempt trying to conceal an emotion much more different than rage.  
‘I did accept it in truth,’ Minerva admitted quickly. There was an awkward silence lingering between them.  
‘I am here to hand in my notice, sir.’  
The words sounded heavier than she had planned; they were managed to be put anything but smoothly.  
Oh, gosh, she must be immensely disappointing him right now, the thought rushed through Minerva all at once. After all, he had put great effort in tutoring and chiseling her in his own demanding, fastidious, nevertheless strangely pleasant way, aiming at high quality at all times. Then also, he had gone to a great distance by representing her interests when it came to her possible appointment to a position many would kill at such a young age. What an ungrateful, childish move she might have just made.  
For a long moment, Minerva thought that Mr. Urquart did not even react at all, waiting for further explanation, but then...  
‘Duly noted.’ Her boss’ voice appeared strangely rusty. He cleared his throat and squared his broad shoulders. ‘I am sure that it is a well-considered decision, however, I encourage you, Ms. McGonagall to revisit it once again before you have your final say.’

But that was her final say, and she told him so with conviction.  
There was no reprimand, no begging, no nothing. The rest was settled in a plain, practical, matter-of-fact manner: Minerva was informed about the contractual notice period of two months – which meant that it was impossible for her to take her new job at the school before November –; then her boss sent an urgent owl about her candidacy having been withdrawn; and then....  
And then there she was, standing in the middle of his mahogany-panelled office, every inch of which she knew far too well, and suddenly another sensation took grip of her.  
_She_ _might_ _not_ _even_ _want_ _to_   _leave_.  
Minerva almost wished that Mr. Urquart explicitly asked her to stay – a wish which almost immediately seemed so stupid and irrational, since why would she use him as a justification or pretext to stay, saving her from making an independent decision on her own future? And why would he want her to stay that badly at all? She is not more than a just-above-the-average upstart who, although performs decently, could not get to like her working environment, therefore now grabs a more enticing opportunity. That is all.  
By that time she had been confident about her decision. Or so she had thought, up until that point.  
‘I must admit, this change of heart came out of the blue,’ Mr. Urquart said at last. ‘And again, the way in which it had been already settled in the background... But of course, who could compete with such a bid from one of world’s most prestigious teaching institutions when it comes to an animagus. Before the Wizengamot we do not perform much transfiguration, do we?’  
He was examining her for a while, thoughts racing around in his head; there would be so much to say or confess.  
‘What a loss you will be.’

  
His plan to reassign her had clearly backfired. Yes, he originally wanted her to be a bit afar from him in order to be able to clear his head. That twenty year-old lass – although unknowingly and unintentionally, but slowly and steadily – enchanted his senses like no woman had done prior, and he had to admit that it annoyed him very much. Elphinstone Urquart had always been the hunter, and now, for Merlin’s sake, he had been brought down regularly by a glance, by a delicate gesture, by a certain intonation.  
This sensation shall pass anyway, he had kept trying to convince himself. Just a temporary affection. Although... an unprecedentedly intense, captivating… ravishing… all-devouring one... But transient! Of course, it is, what else would it be? It is going to pass sooner or later, and everything will be fine again. It will be fine.  
He happened to be wrong about all these.  
Collaborating had become increasingly difficult, for his thoughts regularly wandered away when she was nearby. And Ms. McGonagall, being his assistant, was nearby from 9.00 a.m. to 5.00 p.m. Every. Single. Day.  
And she continued lingering around in his thoughts long after he had closed the office door behind himself. While that young lady knew nothing about it, she invaded his most intimate and private spheres: his mind and his heart. She knew nothing about his attraction towards her; his sleepless nights; his constant struggle to suppress the most inappropriate daydreams triggered by her sheer presence. Imagining her long, raven hair freed from that chignon... the locks falling onto her fair shoulders all the way down onto her naked back... the taste of her soft, pink lips... that gasp she would make into his ear at the first thrust... Although these certainly involuntary, yet unstoppable images gave him all the right shivers, they also caused a certain disgust in himself for keep letting himself engross in them. She was so young; could easily be her daughter.  
But what bothered him more was not really the age difference.  
Because he did not fool himself that in another setting, irrespective of the years which parted them, he would not have hesitated a second to jump. But he was not allowed to move, and he did decide not to move on purpose: Starting a conquest and potentially an affair would have costed Ms. McGonagall her job due to employee conflict of interest - and possibly her reputation as well. She was too precious for him to let it happen - precious both as a colleague and expert, as well as an almost friend-like acquaintance for who he actually cared. He cared, Mr. Urquart realized step by step along the way. He had never cared for anybody. What an unfamiliar, yet strangely pleasant way it felt, caring.  
Therefore another section of the Department, or a whole different department would have done. But a castle far in the North... That would have practically meant a farewell for good. His plan to remove her from under his supervision and sphere of authority would have been only a prelude so that he could have her, and… his intention was definitely not to say goodbye to her.

  
Minerva could not let go of the inconvenient feeling emanating from not having been able to present the facts and her plans adequately, and was slightly worried about some kind of potential retorsion in the following weeks. Despite having known him as an impeccable gentleman and having had excellent, if not amicable rapport with Mr. Urquart – if amicable could be the right adjective to describe a merry and estimable, but a clearly unequal and subordinate relationship –, she knew his merciless and overpowering courtroom battleground strategies in his capacity as a criminal defense lawyer. She did not fool herself even for a brief moment about how it would take him no effort to finish her career-wise in case he wished, after what could have been perceived as back-stabbing.  
But there was no retorsion. Mr. Urquart did not show any signs of either resentment or regret. The only thing she noticed was his booming, rich and sonorous voice becoming somewhat muted or dull. Although it could easily have been a result of a nasty cold too. Otherwise, it was business as usual. Except for her very last day before departure.

‘I would like to have a couple of words with you, Ms. McGonagall before you leave.’ His boss was standing at the office door. Underneath his usual tranquil and almost regal demeanor Minerva could sense a bit of a discomfort this time.  
‘Sir.’ She closed the box in which all her office-belongings were packed, and turned to Mr. Urquart.  
‘I can see that you have charmed away all traces of you belonging to this place. No reminders intended?’ As he was walking closer, his gaze swept through her working area, now stripped of everything personal.  
Minerva shook her head. ‘Not my style. What matters here is how well the job has been done, not by who.’  
‘And what a job has been done...! Now, now, don’t be so humble, claim the glory you deserve. Ultimately, the result of the work and the worker’s contribution are intrinsically interconnected.’  
‘So aren’t we just gears in the machine? Isn’t it a job which is ungrateful, yet demanding?‘  
‘Is it indeed what I said?’ he growled upon recognizing his own words once preached to her on a rainy September morning – which now felt like a lifetime ago.  
‘Quote on quote, sir.’ Minerva smiled cautiously. Then, as the thought of her own ungratefulness hit her, the smile immediately vanished from her face.  
But Mr. Urquart seemingly chose not to make the association, and carried on leisurely with the conversation.  
‘And you are lacking the passion for giving your time and energy to and for the Ministry.’ It was not quite a question. He tended to speak like that, it was a form of subtle command and control, the young witch had observed.  
‘Not my words either. But I could not have phrased it better, to be honest.’  
‘And speaking of being honest...’ He was taking a meaningful look around the office. Minerva’s gaze followed his instinctively.  
‘How did you like it here, Ms. McGonagall?’ the man asked eventually, once his look settled on Minerva again. ‘And I do not request the good old, expected, polite answer. I’d wish to have the genuine and honest one. Since I have already given you your letter of reference, you can be candid about your impressions.’ Mr. Urquart gave her an almost waggish-like smile. Almost, since Mr. Urquart would never do such a thing; it would simply be way out of character.  
‘I carry a lot of ambivalent feelings about the Department, I must admit.’ Minerva did not intend to go further, but the rest slipped out clumsily. ‘Working here did not really meet my expectations, sir. Um... in that.. not in that I’ve looked down on the position or the institution... For Merlin’s sake, it was not my intention to put it that way, really.’ She was cursing her inability to express her thoughts properly. ‘Rather, um... I think I... don’t suit this job. I don’t possess what it takes to be a legal practitioner... that is. My talents lay… elsewhere, I guess. Yes.’  
Her face was burning with embarrassment; this one did not go down very well, either. But Mr. Urquart was watching her and her little struggle with calm amusement instead.  
‘Nice save,’ he spoke at last. ‘So if I understood correctly, you disliked working here; had a god-awful superior with insurmountable requirements; difficult, calculating colleagues with an attitude of entitlement on top of the nerv-wrecking characteristics of our lovely bureaucracy.’  
Minerva opened then closed her mouth opting for not to oppose him that vehemently, and let him finish.  
‘Trust me, I can assume what you have felt inconvenient about.’ His tone changed from teasing to serious. ‘I have been here for about two decades. This environment requires thick skin. It is not everyone’s cup of tea, I understand, Ms. McGonagall. I do.’  
‘But you endure it, sir, don’t you? You even like it, sometimes I was inclined to think.’  
‘I do. I like it difficult. If it was easy, everybody could do it. Cliché it might be...,’ he leaned slightly forward as if passing a secret to her. ‘…but a cliché with a good driving force.’  
These last couple sentences just fitted his personality so well, Minerva thought smirking internally as she stepped back, took the box from her desk, shrank it with a wand motion, and locked it in her purse. She wanted to end it on a more positive note.  
‘You are not god-awful, sir. Not even “careless about your underlings and co-workers up until the point of being insensitive”, you know.’ She grew braver by what she perceived as his tacit encouragement.  
‘Is that what they say?’ he asked with counterfeit surprise. Of course, the corridors had been echoing from such characterization of him. He tended to overlook the human factor despite his excellently polished manners. Listening him while he was sending people to hell was as if witnessing a form of art in the making.  
‘Elphinstone-heart Urquart, they warned me when I arrived.’  
‘Yes, that one I have heard,’ his lips curled slightly upwards. As they did so, fine crow’s feet appeared around his eyes. He had quite lovely eyes, Minerva noticed suddenly. ‘And what do you think, Ms. McGonagall? Empirically verified? The stone-heart.’  
‘The stone-heart? No. Maybe some lordly high-mindedness, if I may...’ she gave him an oblique glance, fearing to now overstep a demarcation line.  
‘It is all right. I would normally terminate an employee’s contract within a moment for such a remark, but,’ he looked at his watch. ‘Seven and a half minutes ago I became weaponless. And frankly, I was the one who requested genuine honesty...’  
‘Then allow me, sir to seize this opportunity to say...’  
‘You don’t have to counterbalance it, Ms. McGonagall, you really don’t.’  
‘No, I... sure.’ Minerva shrugged slightly and wrapped the strap of the leather purse around her wrist. She was almost ready to leave, but before doing so, she wanted to express her thanks in some form nevertheless.  
‘You were the best thing about my time here, sir. I just want you to know that.’  
Mr. Urquart’s stone-heart skipped a beat.  
‘And see,’ she set off towards the door, not even realizing the weight of her words previously spoken. ‘You do care about your colleagues’ opinion and perception. Otherwise we would not be having this talk.’  
‘I don’t. Believe me, you were an exception. Where on earth will I find somebody like you?’  
‘At the Human Resources Department, right in the pile of application parchments,’ Minerva said with a lighthearted laugh. She felt pleasantly carefree, knowing that this was going to be the last time she saw that suffocating place of hierarchy, pure-blood bigotry and egoistic, pity, cruel games played at the expense of each other in order to climb the proverbial ladder.  
She was about to be freed from the Ministry’s toxic environment.

As a matter of fact, Minerva did mean it when she referred to her former boss as the best thing about her time at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Although the young witch felt deep down the paradox of having been comforted by someone’s humanity and fairness, who was considered by his co-workers to be unwilling to show sympathy.  
Nevertheless, Minerva found this result-oriented, accomplished and formidable go-getter an honest crook, whose bible were the statute books and above all the penal code; whose words she drank in without noticing it, and whose ease in those verbal and intellectual combats she silently admired.  
A good lawyer never lies, he would say; they just bend the truth by putting it in different lightning, and approach from a different angle, remember that, Ms. McGonagall. And Minerva did, that is why she had left a pair of cufflinks with ‘Don’t trust me’ and ‘I’m a lawyer’ on them as a farewell present on his desk.

‘I wish you all the best, Ms. McGonagall.’  
‘I wish you all the best, Mr. Urquart.’  
He was watching her slender figure walking away, following her with his gaze all the way down the corridor. And as she was fading away, he had an odd, but definite feeling about parts of him being taken with her.  
Little pieces of his stone-heart, waiting to be recollected.


	2. It is beating

She wrote him first.  
In truth, it rather surprised him. Her letter arrived only a week into her new job at Hogwarts. These were elaborate lines, proving that she took her time to construct the content with care, and with the genuine intent to give a full account and description of her experience.  
He would not have expected this move in a thousand years. Not that he minded, of course. Mr. Urquart was looking forward to these owls with keen anticipation and with a so far unfamiliar, excited tingling sensation in his chest. He replied every time with questions carefully placed in the text, so that another round of correspondence be guaranteed. It was delightful to read her handwriting and to imagine the words put on paper to be said out loud in her voice, accompanied by her facial expressions. Her style was polite, but candid enough to be evaluated as an encouragement for discussions of a variety of topics besides the business as usual.  
They started to exchange letters weekly; it became a habit rather quickly. As a consequence, her departure could not seem to be final anymore; they picked up right where they left off, as casually and naturally as possible. As if it was meant to be.  
Ms. McGonagall once even stopped by his office when she was running some errands in London, and then they bumped into eachother at a pharmacy in Diagon Alley a couple months later. She had grown lovelier, he admitted with an aching heart. Not only lovelier, but more content, balanced and radiant-looking; she was blooming in her self-disciplined way. Hogwarts had done good to her.

Mr. Urquart proved to be Minerva’s most entraining correspondent by far. He was providing a great deal of food for thought; besides, she truly enjoyed his writing style. At times she felt guilty for abusing his scarce time with her letters, but he appeared to be curious and willing to keep the conversation going. Therefore she gained the courage to share with him several fine details along the way: her uneasiness and doubts about her competence; her little successes, and how she at times felt to be in her true element while teaching. He was the one who had seen her professional worth before, hence apart from Albus Dumbledore, Mr. Urquart was the one whose evaluation she trusted in this sense.  
When her probation period was over, and she became permanently employed as a professor, his former boss was the first one Minerva was eager to share the news with in person. Although, for a fleeting moment she could not decide whether it was pride or resignation in his eyes when he heard about the achievement. Joking apart, he was hoping, her former boss admitted to her, that she might have changed her mind, and found the work in the Wizengamot Administration Services more enticing. She took it as a polite form of reprimand for her perceived betrayal, and did not bother him again for a while. When they encountered at a pharmacy in Diagon Alley however, she could hardly contain her high spirits, and might have spoken a wee more about school affairs than she felt would have been tactful. But as it turned out to her surprise, Mr. Urquart was just about to spend a couple days in Hogsmade in the coming weeks, and apropos of that, expressed his hope about her new experiences to be shared with him, perhaps over a cup of tea.

It was the last days of Indian summer at its best in 1957 when they met in front of the Three Broomsticks. He had just completed a two-week long trip across Northern Scotland, using Hogsmade as base of departure during the previous days. It was strange, Minerva thought, that her former boss rested at nights only a couple yards away from her. The though of Elphinstone Urquart in the Scottish Highlands was incongruous; in her eyes he was a true Londoner.  
‘The family is native to Sterling,’ he clarified when she told him so. ‘My father inherited numerous real estates scattered around the Southern parts of Scotland, and the old man has practically bought up the Loch Ness area by now. It was rather about business than... My point is,’ he paused, taken aback by his openness about his private matters. ‘My point is that I know astonishingly and shamefully little about the Highlands. And about Scottish culture and identity in general, I must admit.’  
‘With a name like Elphinstone Urquart?’ she asked with honest wonderment in her voice.  
‘Appearances are sometimes deceiving, Ms. McGonagall,’ he said finally, having examined her for a while, evaluating how much would be appropriate to share. ‘More often than should, I feel that the only Scottish feature I have is my name. And so, I like to dedicate some time to get back to the roots of my real or imagined identity.’  
‘Scotland is breathtakingly beautiful,’ she said reassuringly.  
‘Most certainly is.’ He sighed. ‘Probably that is the reason why I find myself being attracted to her over and over again.’

The afternoon passed in a blissful blur, listening to Ms. McGonagall, who was talking demurely about the excitement and hardships of teaching, her marvelous Scotland, the life on the Hogwarts grounds. But while he was absorbing her words, all he could think of was how much he craved to spend as much time with her as possible. Keeping her as a penfriend just could not suffice. Never had.  
‘I’d make a bold suggestion, if I may,’ he said upon hearing her thousandth ‘sir’ at the end of her sentences.  
‘Yes, sir?’  
‘You are not my assistant anymore, Ms. McGonagall. Therefore,’ he stopped and turned to face her. ‘I am of the conviction that we could keep things a little more relaxed between us. For instance… we may start with leaving your “sirs” when addressing me. Or…’ Should he press further? Offering her to call him by his first name? ‘Or, as you feel comfortable, of course.’  
‘Oh…’ she seemed baffled. ‘Yes, all right, sir, I mean, Elph… Mr. Urquart. _Mr_. _Urquart_ ,’ she repeated his surname in  embarrassment to give it emphasis.  
He suppressed a smirk; the girl almost said out loud his given name, this he could not miss.  
‘Elphinstone would do as well,’ he assured her leisurely, as if the idea occurred to him by her little slip of the tongue.  
‘I did not mean to be disrespectful.’ She was talking to her shoes, resembling more a student than a professor.  
‘You may rest assured, _Minerva_ , you were not disrespectful.’ How sweet and triumphant her name tasted in that moment.

He took the word to ease the atmosphere, and gave her a summary about his trip destinations, the purpose behind them, and watched her energy transform before him, her eyes coming to be lit up with curiosity. Minerva then was inquiring about Ministry affairs, how the Department was holding up, and she said his first name twice in a row, which warmed his stone heart beyond compare. Several hours passed, and it seemed as if they were talking for eternity, when a thunder-shower made them change plans. She let out a little scream in surprise as the storm caught them.  
‘Oh how I despise rain.’ She was trembling, trying to shake the raindrops off of her clothing as they found refuge indoors. ‘Or the cat inside me despies it; probably I will never... know. Where are we?’ She took a look around and pulled a face. It was Madam Puddifoot’s Teashop.  
Mr. Urquart had never seen a more tasteless interior design in a long time, but the heavy rainfall became so severely discouraging, that they rather chose to inch inside and order a drink. ‘What an… interesting place,’ he felt uncomfortable even to take a proper look at the items around them.  
They opted for tea and sit in silence for a while.

  
‘As for the D.M.L.E…?’ She asked finally.  
‘Yes? Yes, yes, the Department. Yes. The Department as I said…’ He found himself at a loss of words, because in his head an entirely different little movie was playing, involving the both of them. ‘…is still going strong.’  
‘How could it not?’ She had no doubt about it. With such competent people in charge as Mr. Urquart.  
‘Do you miss it?’ He glanced up from his cup. His voice was low and quiet.  
Minerva tilted her head a little. ‘No.’ She stated it with conviction, looking straight into his eyes. They were a darker shade of blue.  
‘You are dearly missed.’  
‘I…’ She sighted heavily, and placed the cup onto the table. It was time to get it off of her chest. ‘Mr. Urquart… Elphinstone, I feel more guilty for leaving so abruptly than I could possibly admit, and I… it is high time to apologize for it. Properly.’ The man could discern pleading in her eyes, and he longed to tell her just how unnecessary it all was, but she went on before he could speak. ‘I did not mean to flee, but the promotion offer… I think I did not… I could not… I think… I was so ungrateful.’ She shook her head.  
‘I would very much like to have you back. We were a great team.’  
_Yes_ , _we_ _were_ , she thought. ‘Your acknowledgment indeed means a lot to...’  
‘Minerva.’ He wanted to look into those hazel eyes. ‘I can feel such a degree of uncertainty concerning your self-worth, that I never did back in the day when we were colleagues. You are a precious and gifted person, and you need nobody else to validate your merits externally. I have read your recent publications in Transfiguration Today; if you are only a fraction as good of a teacher as a scholar, those kids are blessed. But if you feel that teaching is too daunting of a task at any point, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is always, let me repeat, always there to welcome you back, as long as I am holding a position there.’  
She remained silent.  
‘You like teaching.’ It was a realization that hurt him unexpectedly.  
‘I love teaching,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I have not enjoyed myself this much in years. I just… some colleagues are… I turned 22 only weeks ago. I am teaching teenagers at... sometimes 18 years of age. What makes me feel entitled to be called their professor? It was not long ago when...’  
‘Your talents and work ethic are worth more than those of many I know personally with long years of experience.’ He was searching her eyes with his.  
‘I never felt this vulnerable when I was working under you,’ she mumbled to her teacup.  
‘It was different.’ Oh, if she knew how different their time together had been. ‘I think very highly of you. I see your worth now, Minerva, because I purposefully aspired to get to know you, and made the effort to discover your strengths and address your weaknesses in a constructive way.’  
It made her smile genuinely, and she finally stopped examining her empty cup.  
‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously, instinctively smiling with her.  
‘Stone-heart Urquart’ she blurted it out, still smiling sceptically. ‘How come he cared to such an extent?’  
‘Let me share a little secret with you.’ He said in a half-serious, half-teasing manner. ‘I have a proper heart too. A heart which is beating, and feels, and cares for the ones selected.’  
She suppressed a chuckle in disbelief. ‘Sure.’  
‘I think very highly of you, Minerva,’ Mr. Urquart repeated now seriously, without the teasing streak. ‘You are an exceptional young woman with whom I would be honored to spend as much time as possible, and I can only hope that the feeling is mutual.’  
‘I am not going back to the Ministry,’ Minerva said with ease as she abstractedly tucked a loose strand of raven hair back into her chignon.  
‘Don’t come back then. Just come back to me.’  
‘For instance, with a special type of contract, so that you can employ me?’ Her eyes turned kitten-like as she narrowed them. The witch apparently had no clue whatsoever.  
‘I’d rather wish to have your... companionship. Without the work element.’  
‘There is no contract for that’ she laughed.  
Mr. Urquart was looking at her for an unusually long moment before he spoke.  
‘There is. It is called marriage contract.’

  
The smile, that honest smile he triggered himself moments ago, was melting from her face in an almost comical way.  
‘I beg your pardon?’ she asked stunned, with a break in her voice.  
‘It was… a proposal, if you wish.’ _Oh_ _shut it_ _already!_ _Can’t_ _you_ _see_ _she_ _is_ _repulsed_ _by_ _the_ _very_ _idea_?  _Stop embarrassing yourself, and just_   _say_ _you_ _were_ _kidding_. _Just_ _say_ _you_ _were_ …  
The piercing silence could almost be equated with physical pain.  
‘I can’t.’ Her voice was cold and withdrawn and offensive and defensive and regretful and hurt at the same time. She could not take her eyes off of him. She could not let go of his gaze, and the overt disappointment in it. ‘I couldn’t.’  
‘I see.’ He was sitting there as a sack of potatoes, having absolutely no idea how to save the remainder of his pride. ‘All right.’  
It was everything but all right. She excused herself to the restroom, and suggested to leave immediately upon her return. The rain was still pouring heavily, and the pair got soaking wet despite their best efforts while they reached the Three Broomsticks. She stepped inside with him. The place was empty.  
‘Let’s forget about it,’ he murmured. His feeling of superiority over her had evaporated completely somewhere halfway between the teashop and the inn. He was not sure anymore who was in control of what.  
‘Don’t.’ She swept the wet locks out of her face, appearing to be rigid and determined. ‘Just handle it where it belongs.’  
‘I have no idea where it belongs,’ the wizard admitted reluctantly.  
‘It is in your head, sir.’  
She turned around and left.

Minerva McGonagall despised the rain indeed, but at that moment she was truly thankful for it, for tactfully washing away her tears shed for an old proposal of a bright future made in Caithness, and her tears shed for the bourgeoning friendship she was hoping to have with such a magnificent person as Mr. Urquart.

 _It_ _is_ _in_ _your_ _head_ , _sir_.  
But what is in his head?  
_Sir_?  
The only thing Elphinstone Urquart was certain about in that very moment while watching her practically running away from him in the heavy rainfall, was that his feelings towards her belonged to his heart; it was definitely not in his head. For the first time in his life, he was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The proposal is happening right here. Could not help incorporating it into this work. Previous typos hopefully corrected.

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece, trying to map out and draw a picture of the past of these two precious characters. I intended it to be actually the last piece of the sequence I have created in the lasting year or so. Sort of ending it where it all began. Thank you if you have read any of them. 
> 
> Concerning Urquart, for some reason I have always been inspired by Russell Crowe’s character portrayal of Javert in the 2012 film, Les Misérables.  
> In mannerism, presence, charisma and all that. Only that he is paradoxically being specialized in criminal defense in the spirit of fair trial and equality before the law, and I wanted to twist his character by adding remnants of his high society pure-blood background, which gives him a certain sense of entitlement.  
> I also fancy the idea to mellow and soften him up as a result of his affection towards Minerva whose character is interestingly less sharp and self-assured in her early years. She is definitely lacking direction here, standing at crossroads in the canon.  
> As for her, I based her character on the young version of l'actrice francaise, Marion Cotillard whose performances I have always found cat-like and bold enough for McGonagall.


End file.
